


Paper Cranes

by maddierose



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Romance, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family Drama, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddierose/pseuds/maddierose
Summary: She is a spoilt Capitolian. He is a broken Victor. Seeing a potential sponsor, Finnick goes about seducing her for the sake of his tributes. Yet she proves to be quite the challenge. Could he ever care for the daughter of a Head Gamemaker, of someone who ruined his life?
Relationships: Finnick Odair/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Promotions

Part One: Porcelain

**Warnings: none**

The first Hunger Games that Mirinda could actually remember were the 62 nd . She had been six years old at the time, and the only reason she thought she could recall every last detail was because of the Victor. The dark-haired girl from 2, whose victory still burned sharp in her mind. How was a child of such a young and impressionable age meant to forget sharp teeth piercing another tribute’s throat, blood pouring from the punctures?

Her dad had wanted to Miri to cover her eyes, but she had ever been the curious child. In fact, the more people told her  _ not _ to do things, the more she was drawn to the temptation of the forbidden. Besides, her grandfather had been responsible for those Games. He had been the Head Gamemaker starting that year, and the 62 nd Hunger Games had been a marvellous success.

It was no secret to anyone in the Capitol that Obadiah had lot of influence. He was very good friends with the President himself, and hosted several more of the Games. The 63 rd and 64 th , won by a brother and sister from District 1. Then there was the 65 th Hunger Games – Obadiah’s last year of being Head Gamemaker. Miri had been nine by then, too young at that age to appreciate the beauty of the Victor that was fourteen-year-old Finnick Odair.

Miri was not very close with her grandfather. He was a stern man, with grey eyebrows that always reminded her of fluffy caterpillars as a child. He was not affectionate. She couldn’t remember him holding her or playing with her. Always the important man, her grandfather Obadiah. Even after he retired gracefully from the position as Head Gamemaker after the 65 th Hunger Games, Miri still referred to him as ‘sir’.

Miri never remembered her mother. Everyone told her that her name had been Lindy, that she had died in childbirth with Miri. So she had sought out wedding holographs, any sort of indication that her mother had actually existed. But of course she had, for why would everyone be lying to her? How would Miri ever exist if Lindy did not? So she gave up searching – for the time being.

Some of Miri’s friends talked about having nightmares about the Games, as if they were in them. Miri never did. She was safe and protected in the Capitol. It was ridiculous to think she would ever be a part of them, to do more than observe on a screen what occurred. Her family was involved in Gamemaking, but that was the closest they would ever get to the arena.

What Miri didn’t expect was to ever befriend let alone fall for a Victor. What Miri didn’t realise was that the higher her family climbed, the harder they would fall.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Lilah asked as Miri sauntered confidently into the nightclub. She followed at a much more hesitant pace, brushing her electric-blue bangs out of her eyes. Miri flashed a grin over her shoulder at her reluctant friend. Normally Lilah was the life of the party, but it didn’t seem like she was comfortable bluffing their way into a local nightclub.

“Don’t be a wimp, Lilah.” Miri ran a hand through her hair. Naturally it was a pale blonde, and she didn’t like dyeing it for fear it might never go back to its normal colour. However, Miri did have pink streaks weaved into her silky hair, swinging down her back as she crossed determinedly over towards the bar. Lilah grabbed her arm, tugging her back.

“Miri, wait. We could get in  _ so _ much trouble. We’re sixteen.”

The bright fluorescent lights and the pulsating rhythm of the music seemed to work a spell over Miri, making her feel alive. She knew that she shouldn’t be here, but what was her other option? Being holed up in her apartment? It was the risk-taking that made her heart race.

“No one knows that.” Miri frowned, examining Lilah closely. It was just heading out to a nightclub, perhaps something a little riskier than their usual ventures but she would have thought her best friends would appreciate the daring in it. “What’s up with you tonight? Is something going on with you and Khalos?”

“He’s just being weird.” Lilah nibbled at her lip as she thought of her boyfriend. “Look, what the hell. We’re here to have fun, right? So let’s go have fun.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Miri exclaimed approvingly, but before she could reach the bar, her path was blocked by one the bouncers. Lilah instinctively stepped behind her and Miri swallowed.

“Can I please see your I.Ds, girls?”

“Oh, shoot.” Miri pretended to check her purse, her tone falsely chirpy. Her heart was hammering in her chest but she was determined to play it casual. If she acted like an adult, she would seem like an adult. “I must have left it behind. But it’s okay. Olivier cleared us, you can ask him.”

“No need.”

Miri groaned as Bentley Fraser stepped away from the bar, a martini in his hand as he inspected her with disdainful amber eyes. Of course he just had to be here. Bentley seemed to be everywhere, watching her every move. He knew her all too well – and she had the distinct feeling that he’d seen her and alerted the bouncer to her being underage. Miri clenched her hands into fists as Bentley swaggered over, eyebrows raised.

“Lilah, security will see to it that you have a ride home. Miri, Seneca wants to speak with you.”

_ Oh shit. _ It looked like her plan had been completely busted. If Seneca Crane had known that she was going to put it into action, Miri knew things were only going to get worse from here. Lilah looked over her shoulder as the bouncer escorted her out, a pitying look across her face. No matter how much trouble she was in, she knew Miri was in ten times more.

“Where is he?” Miri inquired, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“Outside in a limo.” Bentley, Seneca’s secretary/stalker for hire, kept a firm grip on Miri’s elbow as he led her from the club. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, trying not to fume about how embarrassing this all was. She was definitely going to have some things to say to Seneca about discretion.

The air outside was cool, and Miri immediately wished she’d brought a jacket. She rubbed her bare arms, heels clicking down the pavement as she followed Bentley towards a stretch limo parked just outside the nightclub. It looked as though Seneca had known her plan from the very start. Miri grimaced inwardly, steeling herself as Bentley opened the door to the limo.

Miri slid inside, smacking the disco ball irritably away from her head as she shifted across the leather seat. Seneca Crane sat opposite her, swilling a cocktail. She felt a surge of agitation. Why was everyone allowed drinks apart from her? Yeah, she was sixteen, but it wasn’t as though she planned to get drunk. She just wanted the  _ one. _

“So?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Watch your tone.” Seneca set the cocktail down. “You should know better than this, Mirinda. You’re not even seventeen yet. If I catch you in another nightclub…”

“You’ll do what, have President Snow arrest me?” Miri asked sarcastically, before adding on a sugar-sweet: “Sir.”

Outside the limo, the lights of the Capitol, the nightlife, beckoned her. Miri was so frustrated of being too young for everything, always getting into trouble for doing things because she was still classified as a _child._ Scowling, Miri angrily ripped the pink streaks from her hair, knowing that Seneca was watching her intently.

“This behaviour will stop.” Seneca’s tone was firm, and Miri couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I might not be the police, but I have authority over to you. This recklessness is not good for you. You might think you are all grown up, but you aren’t an adult yet, Mirinda.”

Sometimes, it felt like she was meant to be an adult. All the galas and balls and charity functions she was forced into attending…she didn’t do them for herself. She did it because it was expected of her. It was easy enough to force smiles and make conversation for the first two hours, but after that, Miri found herself craving the company of her friends. No, she wasn’t yet an adult. But it was confusing when sometimes she was meant to be, and other times, she was meant to adhere to the often derogatory title of ‘child’.

“There’s something important you need to know.” Seneca paused, a slight smile tweaking his lips and making his ridiculous beard twitch. How it was seen as the height of fashion, Miri had no clue. “I will be the Head Gamemaker for the 72 nd Hunger Games.”

Miri couldn’t say that she was overly surprised. Seneca Crane was known to be hardworking and had climbed the rungs of power over the past few years to be where he was today. The promotion to Head Gamemaker had only been a matter of time. Miri wasn’t quite sure whether to congratulate him on the achievement, or remain sullen at her scolding.

“You are going to be watched closely by the Capitol during the Games, so you need to behave.” Seneca leaned back in the seat, the leather creaking and shifting beneath his suit pants and dress shirt. “Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Miri stated, biting back an automatic ‘sir’, “Yes…Dad.”


	2. Party Fever

**Warnings: underage drinking**

Miri thought that social gatherings in their apartment evoked the kind of dread that potential tributes must feel on Reaping day. It was only around twenty people, but they were all such high-ranking members of Capitolian society that Seneca had spent most of the afternoon reminding her to behave. Miri’s dress was reminiscent of a peacock, all striking bright colours and bold patterns. She even had several feathers embedded throughout her hair – feather braids were, of course, one of the latest trends.

The gathering had started at seven o’clock sharp, with waiters around the apartment serving champagne and appetizers. It was now nearly eight-thirty, but Miri was still to breathe a sigh of relief at the absence of her father, the infamous Obadiah Crane. There was no doubt in her mind that the former Head Gamemaker would arrive to congratulate his son of achieving the same title. Seneca of course was strutting proudly about the apartment, soaking in compliments like a sponge. Miri thought that tonight, it was her dad who was the real peacock.

“Oh, Miri, just look at you!” An emerald-haired woman practically shrieked, almost bowling Miri off her feet in her enthusiasm to swoop in and kiss both of her cheeks. Miri forced a smile, wishing she could be off with her friends rather than here with her father’s boring friends and co-workers. “You are so grown up, how old are you now?”

“Sixteen,” Miri replied. It was one of those horrible moments where the woman was likely a figure from her childhood, expecting to be recognised despite the fact that Miri had probably been a young child when they had been introduced. “I’m sorry, I’ve completely forgotten your name.”

“Andromeda Silk.” The woman looked quite shocked, as if she had not expected that Miri wouldn’t remember who she was. “Miri, darling, you remember me from when you were a little girl, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Miri lied.  _ You need to behave. You need to behave. _ Her dad’s words rang through her head like alarm bells. She suddenly noticed that everything had gone quiet, the cheery chatter dying down into a low murmur. Miri knew what it meant. Drawing her shoulders back and turning slowly, she was not at all surprised to see her grandfather walking in through the doorway.

“Congratulations, son.” Obadiah crossed over to Seneca, pulling the younger man into a masculine embrace and clapping him heartily on the back. “You’ve made me very proud.”

Miri glanced around for the waiters, knowing that she would be needing all the champagne she could get her hands on now that Obadiah was present. Although he greatly approved of Seneca’s latest achievements, Miri’s recent antics had been…not entirely noteworthy. Swiping a champagne from a stunned waiter, Miri took a deep gulp. It tasted disgusting. She took another sip.

“Mirinda.”

She spun around, just managing to refrain from sloshing the champagne over her expensive dress. Obadiah seemed to have an unpleasant habit of popping up near her without her noticing. Her grandfather had looked upbeat and proud in Seneca’s presence, but now contempt was written in the stern lines of his face, his mouth downturned in what seemed to be a permanent frown whenever he was around her. His disdainful expression turned to the champagne in her hand.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be drinking, my dear?”

“I’m just having the one, sir,” Miri murmured. She didn’t know why she was so cowed by Obadiah’s presence, but she was not the only one. Everyone in the Capitol respected Obadiah Crane, especially considering he was a personal friend to President Snow. Miri had met the President on only two occasions. He was the sort of man who unnerved her, although she could not have said why.

“I am slightly surprised you aren’t out partying with your…friends.” Obadiah’s tone was dripping with distaste, and Miri resisted the urge to glower. She would rather be with her friends as well, but she was here for a reason.

“It’s a daughter’s duty to show support for her father, isn’t it?”

Obadiah’s lips curved upwards into a mirthless smile. “That it is. I am glad that Seneca appears to have taught you something, at least.”

“Indeed he has.” Miri noted, not for the first time, that her relationship with her grandfather was a very odd one indeed. It felt more like they were rivals, forcing politeness for Seneca’s sake, rather than blood relatives. Noting that Obadiah’s sharp gaze was upon her, Miri tilted her head back and finished her glass of champagne. It left a burning sensation in her throat, but it was worth it for the disapproval that clouded his eyes.

“You are growing bold, Mirinda.”

“No, sir,” Miri replied with some glee, taking another glass of champagne from a waiter. “I am growing tipsy.”

Obadiah’s face tightened with anger, before he turned on his heel and strode away from her. Miri suppressed her smile by taking a sip of her new glass of champagne. Her intention wasn’t always to antagonise her grandfather – but when he seemed to stare down at her in disapproval no matter what she did, it seemed much easier to behave scandalously and earn his contempt than clamour for his good graces.

Miri watched as her grandfather led Seneca aside into the conference room, taking care to close the doors behind them. She frowned, wondering what business Obadiah had with Seneca in private. She was too curious for her own good most of the time – and the alcohol had given her boldness. Finishing off her current glass of champagne, Miri set it down and headed for the conference room. She took some more champagne from a waiter, and hesitated before deciding on some cheese and crackers as well. It wouldn’t do her any good drinking without having something to balance it out with.

Tentatively, Miri peered through the glass panes in the door – but there was no sign of either Obadiah or Seneca. She guessed that they must have ventured onto the balcony to talk. Glancing around to make sure everyone else was occupied, Miri put the last of the cheese and cracker snack in her mouth and quietly opened the door, slipping inside before closing it quickly so that neither of her relatives would hear the snatches of conversation and realise someone was intruding.

“…just like her mother.” Obadiah’s tone was distasteful as Miri approached stealthily, taking care that she didn’t take down any chairs on her way over to eavesdrop. “She is deliberately rebellious, and finds amusement in behaving like some kind of wild party-girl. There is very little of yourself in the girl.”

“I’ve tried.” Seneca sounded tired, and Miri suddenly realised that they were talking about her. She felt a surge of guilty. She didn’t mean to cause such trouble for her dad, especially when he wasn’t the one treating her with disdain. It was her grandfather she was alright with displeasing. “She’s curious, Dad. She wants to know where pictures of her mother are. Perhaps it’s time we opened up about it.”

“No.” Obadiah’s tone was firm. Miri leaned forward slightly so that she could see them. Seneca was gripping the ledge with both hands, leaning forward with his head bowed. “Seneca, the girl cannot know. Why else do you think we’ve kept it from her all these years? If she finds out…”

What she was not meant to find out, Miri didn’t get to find out, for she took a step back and collided with a chair. She fell heavily, her champagne glass rolling across the floor. The noise made both Obadiah and Seneca turn, and Miri braced herself, surmising that she was in a lot of trouble.

“Miri? What are you doing in here?” Seneca swept inside, setting the champagne glass on the mahogany table before helping his daughter to her feet. “Are you drunk?”

Perhaps she was a bit. Miri felt things spinning. Although she could still make sense of the world, things seemed sluggishly slow. She clutched at the back of the chair, realising that now she could take advantage of Seneca’s assumption by making out that she was drunker than she actually was.

“Looking for my room.” Miri deliberately slurred the words. Obadiah, predictably, was looking thoroughly irritated at the interruption, although not as angry as he would have been had he known that she had stumbled in on their conversation deliberately. Seneca sighed heavily, glancing at his father before back at his daughter.

“Your rooms are the level above this one,” Seneca said patiently. “Can you get there yourself, or do you need me to take you?”

Miri had shared the same rooms as her father since she had been a child, but had always begged to get her own. She had been surprised on her sixteenth birthday when Seneca had bought her own room, in the same building and only the level above. It was not uncommon for Capitolian parents to do so, giving their children space while still keeping a close eye on them. Miri shook her head fervently.

“I can go myself.”

Seneca watched as his teenage daughter made her way out of the conference room. He heaved a sigh and turned back to Obadiah, who was not looking impressed. It was true that the girl was her mother’s image – and seemed to have inherited a fair share of her personality as well. Obadiah’s frown was terse, arms folded over his chest.

“She cannot know the truth, Seneca. What do you think would happen if she found out?”

“I don’t know,” Seneca admitted. He had tried to protect Miri from the truth, but she was too curious for her own good. One of these days, she would find out. It was not a question of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

“You don’t understand,” Obadiah sounded frustrated. “It is not just her who would be affected. If Miri finds out about her mother…it could destroy all of us.”

* * *

The doors to the elevator opened, and Miri groaned, rubbing at the back of her neck. Perhaps she had been pretending to be drunk in front of her dad and grandfather, but she really did not feel so well. It had only been three champagnes, but they had been drunk within the space of half an hour, and she had only eaten cheese and a cracker. Miri stumbled into the elevator, pressing the button for her floor.

“Wild night?”

The male voice made her almost jump out of her skin. She hadn’t realised that she wasn’t alone in the elevator. She glanced at the young man who stood beside her, a somewhat forced smile spread across his features as he inspected her. He was…gorgeous. He was tall and muscular, with bronze hair and sea-green eyes. Miri knew that she recognised him, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on where from. He was in his early twenties, and had Miri not been so drunk, she might have been speechless.

“Go away.” She rubbed at her head, causing the young man to laugh at her misfortune. It seemed that he recognised the signs of drunkenness when he saw them. Miri leaned back against the elevator, tilting her head on the cool glass. She just wanted to be in her room, forgetting all about the conversation that Obadiah and Seneca had been having.

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking?” The young man inspected her critically. “What are you, fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Miri snapped in response. Generally she would have been more polite towards a complete stranger, however the alcohol pumping through her system meant her tolerance of human beings in general had reached a significant low. “Not that I see how it’s any of your…”

She broke off, feeling bile rising in her throat. Before Miri knew what was happening, the elevator had pinged to let her know they’d stopped at her level – and she had vomited all over the poor young man’s shirt. He made a noise of disgust and stepped back, staring down at the mess on his clothes. Completely mortified, Miri staggered out of the elevator, feeling her cheeks turning an excruciating red.

“I’m sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

The elevator doors closed before the young man could reply. Miri sighed heavily. He was vaguely familiar, but not enough so that she had seen him often. If she was lucky, perhaps she would never see him again and the incident would never have to be brought to light. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and cringing at the mere thought of what had just happened, Miri swiped her card and stepped into her room. Hopefully tomorrow morning she would have forgotten all about what had happened.

* * *

“That’s it, get it all out of your system.”

Seneca Crane felt more like a nurse than a Head Gamemaker as he rubbed his daughter’s back. Miri was throwing up into the toilet, her blonde hair tied onto a bun on top of her head for the sake of convenience. Seneca wasn’t generally what one would call a doting parent, but he understood hangovers all too well. Miri was slender and 5’2, so it made sense that even drinking a few champagnes was enough to get her in such a state.

“All done?” Seneca questioned tentatively. He loved his daughter, he really did, but he was not keen to get vomit on his new suit. He was dressed for work already, as the Reapings were only in a week’s time. He needed to have everything prepared. Since his instatement as Head Gamemaker, Seneca had been working night and day on the arena and other aspects of the upcoming 72 nd Hunger Games. Yet there were still some loose ends to be tied up.

“I think so.” Miri’s voice was hoarse as she flushed the toilet, splashing her face with water from the sink and inspecting her reflection. Although naturally pale, she looked white as a sheet. She turned to glance at her dad, who had his arms folded over his chest. There was a stern look on his face, like he was trying to emulate Obadiah.

“You shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

Miri rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry, but your social events are  _ dull _ .”

Seneca stroked a hand over his immaculate beard. He knew that it couldn’t be easy for a girl of Miri’s age, a girl who wanted to go out and party rather than being forced to attend stifling functions. But he was the head Gamemaker now, and he needed to make a good impression. Attention wouldn’t only be focused on him, but also on his daughter. Knowing that Miri was a natural mischief-maker made Seneca all the more determined to pull her in line. If he was seen as a father who let his daughter run wild…well, it wouldn’t look good at all.

“Do you know what this promotion means for us?” Seneca asked, washing as she brushed her teeth.

Miri shrugged. “More money.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one advantage,” Seneca mused, leaning against the bathroom wall. “But I’m not talking money, darling. I’m talking  _ prestige.  _ Your grandfather Obadiah made a name for himself before his retirement after the 65 th Hunger Games. We can’t just expect to live on his good name alone. My promotion means that both you and I will be the most talked about people in Panem. We will go to all the most important functions, mingle with powerful people…sweetheart, you might even get a wealthy boyfriend.”

Miri scowled at that. “I don’t date, Dad.”

“Well, when you do.” Seneca waved a dismissive hand. “What I’m saying is that we’ll be part of Panem’s elite. President Snow’s inner circle.”

Miri liked the sound of that, even if she knew she wouldn’t like all of the people. Caesar Flickerman’s daughter Ithaca was a complete and utter bore who only ever talked about fashion and boys, and rumour had it that his son Cobryn was a vain young man. She would much prefer to associate with people her age who she  _ chose _ to be around, however she understood that she would need to make sacrifices to help her dad. Seneca had raised her to the best of his ability, despite her often troublesome, attention-seeking ways.

“Wait, Dad.” Miri frowned, two ideas colliding in her mind. “Who won the 65 th Hunger Games again?”

“Finnick Odair,” Seneca said, shaking his head slowly as if despairing of her. How could his daughter forget the most handsome man in Panem? At his words, Miri groaned and pressed her hands over her face and he frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Does he have bronze hair and green eyes?”

“Yes, why?” Seneca was at a loss as to why his daughter was asking him such questions. Although it was true that Miri wasn’t as boy-crazy as many other girls her age, he would have thought that even she would remember the Victor from Obadiah’s last year as Head Gamemaker.

“I vomited on him in the elevator last night,” Miri practically wailed.

Seneca could not help but wince. It was true that his daughter knew very few Victors personally, but when they discovered that Seneca was Head Gamemaker – well, every Victor would suddenly want to be Miri’s best friend, out of pure selfish desire to help their tributes win the Games. It sounded as though Miri had not made a good first impression on Finnick, which was a shame considering that Finnick was a Career Victor and perhaps the most popular among the Capitolians.

“You know what Finnick Odair does, don’t you?” Seneca questioned, his tone becoming rather stern. He did not want his daughter to become enamoured with the young Victor and end up losing…something valuable.

“Of course.” Miri rolled her eyes. “He’s a courtesan, isn’t he?”

“And you are not going to use your money to…”

“Dad!” Miri was absolutely appalled. Yes, Finnick was an attractive man – well, from what she remembered – but that didn’t mean she was going to stoop so low as to  _ buy _ him. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. In any case, she was still a virgin, and she was not going to pay a man to take that away from her. “What do you think I am, desperate?”

“I think you are a teenage girl with hormones,” Seneca replied calmly. He had been a teenager once, knew what it was like to lust shamelessly after members of the opposite sex. Yet he did not want Finnick, or any other Victors for that matter, to go near his daughter if they were looking for  _ that. _ “Do we need to have a talk?”

“Not  _ the _ talk,” Miri groaned, drying her face with a towel and glaring over it at her dad. “I know about all of that, I’m not interested in it, alright? Can we just keep the discussion that brief?”

“Alright,” Seneca relented, not really wanting to get into the gritty details with his daughter anyway. He had a lot of things to focus on within the next few weeks, and his teenage daughter’s love life or lack thereof was not one of them.


	3. Tributes

**Warnings: none**

It was the time of year that all Capitolians got excited about, and Miri had to admit that she was no exception. The Reaping for the 72 nd Hunger Games would take place tomorrow, during which a flurry of early bets begin. It was odd to her, that people could place bets based on the ages, appearances and districts of the tributes who had been selected. Miri didn’t bet, as Seneca didn’t allow it, but she normally pinned her hopes on the Career districts. More often than not, it would be a tribute from District 1, 2 or 4 who would become the Victor – although last year had been a surprise with Johanna Mason from District 7.

However this year, everything was going to be different. Seneca knew it, and he sat his daughter down to ensure that she knew it as well. As he had now taken up the position of Head Gamemaker, everything was about to change. That included Miri’s role in the Games, which would be substantial even though she didn’t quite realise. As a Gamemaker’s daughter, all of the Victors would be clamouring for her favour, determined to get her to sponsor their tributes.

“Many of the Victors are going to suddenly notice you this year.” Seneca leaned back in his chair. He really wished that Victors wouldn’t notice Miri. She was a sixteen-year-old girl, and didn’t require the unwanted attention of Victors pushing for her to sponsor their tributes. Many of them would offer her favours in return, and Seneca was not sure that he wanted to know what sort of favours these would be.

“I doubt that.” Miri was too focused on her mobile, too busy texting one of her friends most likely – but this was a serious conversation. Seneca reached forward and plucked the shiny silver device out of his daughter’s hands, causing her to scowl. “What, Dad? I’m listening, okay?”

“You are now,” Seneca said with satisfaction, watching as Miri folded her arms and scowled. “Now. The Victors often look for people to sponsor their tributes. Many of them would go to drastic measures to earn these sponsors. I am the Head Gamemaker and you are my daughter. Do you understand what I mean?”

Miri nodded slowly. Her father was saying that many of the Victors would pressure her to sponsor them, because she would have huge influence in her current position. Somehow, that didn’t sit quite right with her. Wouldn’t it be sort of cheating, for her to sponsor any tributes? Of course Seneca had no say over any of her sponsor gifts, over nothing except her allowance which she would likely use to sponsor if she so chose. But Miri thought that it might be influencing the Games in the wrong kind of way.

“That’s not cheating, is it?” she asked uncertainly.

Seneca laughed mirthfully. “Of course not, darling. It’s…let’s say it’s shaping the Games into what you want them to be. If a tribute receives sponsor gifts, they have a better chance of survival. You remember the trident that won Finnick Odair his Games?”

Personally, Miri had always thought that Finnick Odair’s beauty and talent had won him the Games, but now she was forced to reconsider her opinion. The trident had been a wonderful sponsor gift certainly, and she found herself curious as to who had provided Finnick with it. They must have been a very big fan indeed if they were willing to risk that much, to put that much money towards something.

“So what do I do?”

“Let them stew for a while.” Seneca stroked his immaculate beard in contemplation. Miri watched keenly, eager for her father’s advice. “Think over which tribute you want to survive. Only then make your choice, and privately. As daughter of the Head Gamemaker, you can’t afford to be seen showing favouritism.”

_ Well, that defeats the purpose of sponsoring,  _ Miri thought dryly, but she said nothing. She had to admit that she was rather excited at the prospect of actually getting to know Victors. She would have to try and steer clear of Finnick Odair, of course. Miri couldn’t see herself associating with a man she had thrown up on, it just seemed far too embarrassing. Her cheeks flamed red at the memory of the occasion, but she disguised it by brushing her blonde hair into her face.

It must have been difficult for Seneca, Miri thought as she noticed the weariness in her father’s bright blue eyes, so like her own. He had been twenty years old when she had been born, not painfully young, but young enough that raising a child with only the help of Obadiah would have been hard for him. Not to mention that the child was girl, and so it had come down to Seneca to, with excruciating embarrassment, teach Miri about what to expect in her teenage years. She trusted him with everything – and why shouldn’t she? He was, after all, her father.

“I’ll see tomorrow, and during their training.” Miri clambered to her feet. It was probably best to decide on who she was going to sponsor only after the Games had begun. She didn’t want to stick with someone who would only die in the bloodbath, after all. The Victors could all come begging, but Miri wouldn’t sponsor any of them until the Games. It made her feel powerful, knowing she would have them all like puppets on a string. It also made her feel guilty for having that power, for reasons she couldn’t explain.

“Get some sleep.” Seneca rose and kissed the top of her head. “Tomorrow’s going to be a very exciting day.”

* * *

It was the same as any other year, with Miri sitting in front of the plasma television screen along with the rest of her friends, who were giggling and whispering. Miri was taking herself far too seriously, determined to behave maturely as if that would make her seem somehow more important. With the other girls admired the latest fashions in magazines and gossiped, Miri was solely focused on the television screen. The Reapings had concluded in the districts, and therefore the recap would soon play, showing them all the tributes who would be competing in this year’s Games.

When the Capitol seal appeared on screen, Lilah began shushing everyone and Miri leaned forward, watching in anticipation. Of course she was interested in see the tributes every year, but this year she needed to pay close attention. One of these teenagers might be the person she chose to sponsor. Setting aside her berry ice tea – which Giorgia had brought for them all, claiming it was full of natural health benefits – Miri rested her chin on her arm and started to make note.

Both from District 1 were unsurprisingly attractive. The girl’s hair was like a sheet of pale silver it was so light, her skin white as ivory. She was tall and thin, but had to be at least seventeen years old. The boy was around the same age, attractive in a burly, roguish sort of way. Miri was sure she would learn their names later, but now, they were just the tributes of District 1.

District 2 were impressive, but in a different way. The boy – more of a man, really – was at least 6’5. He looked like he could snap even the stronger tributes in half. His partner, in contrast, was small and mousy-looking, but there was no doubt in Miri’s mind that she was fast and agile. A formidable pair if ever she’d seen one.

District 3 normally didn’t catch Miri’s eye, but this year it was the girl’s hair, like burnt copper, that held her attention. She was small and fairly young, perhaps fifteen years old. But it was something about that nervous smile compared with the powerful auras of the tributes of 1 and 2 that caused Miri to really notice her. District 3 weren’t a Career district, but their tributes were often very tech-savvy.

The rest of the Reapings went by with little distinction. Miri of course took note of the District 4 pair, for the simple fact that they were Careers, but then she remembered that she had thrown up on Finnick Odair and found herself squirming with embarrassment once again. Occasionally Miri’s friends would comment, usually on a male tribute they thought to be good-looking. After the tributes from District 12 have been presented, Lilah took the remote and flicked the television off.

“So? What do you think?” She was addressing all of her friends, but it was obvious that the questions were really directed at Miri. The blonde girl noticed that all attention had turned her way and she suddenly felt the heat of the spotlight. Raking back her hair, Miri took another sip of her berry ice tea.

“I think we’ll have to wait until we actually see them to judge.”

Miri knew that she needed to make a more informed decision than mere faces on a television screen. Some of the tributes she thought looked formidable, but it might be a completely different story in reality. Her friends were somewhat disappointed by her verdict, as if they had been expecting her to single out one of them. Giorgia pursed her lips and tossed back her unruly brown curls.

“Oh. Well, I like the boy from District 1. I think he’s cute.”

“You can’t tell a Victor based on looks,” Lilah said rather contemptuously, causing Giorgia to lapse into silence. Miri was more concerned with knowing that the tributes and their mentors would be arriving in the afternoon – meaning she would have to see Finnick Odair, in all his glory, knowing that she had vomited on him. She buried her face in the velvet cushion with a groan.

* * *

Finnick Odair was well aware that it was on the chariots he had first caught Panem’s attention, as a fourteen-year-old with a charming smile and dazzling good looks. However considering the two tributes he was dealing with this year, unfortunately he didn’t think that the same could be said of them. Zachary was a boy of sixteen with shark-like, sharp features. He had a perpetual look of sullenness about his face that Finnick doubted any girl in the Capitol would find attractive. Valkyrie wasn’t too much better – a slightly pudgy girl with seemingly more freckles than grains of sand on the beaches of District 4.

They were a nice enough pair. Finnick could not fault them that. However they were not spectacular enough to become noticed in the chariot rides at first glance, not unless their prep teams and stylists were  _ extremely _ good. So he paced the lowest level of the Training Centre hoping that some sort of magic could be worked on them to make them at least appear worthwhile.

The other mentors were, of course, either waiting for their tributes or fussing over them. They weren’t the only ones – there were several Capitolians wandering through the place, clearly taking note. Finnick frowned when he caught sight of a small blonde girl who, although obviously Capitolian, looked far too young to be getting herself involved in any bets on the tributes. When she turned, he recognised her immediately, with a slight grimace. It was that drunk girl who had thrown up on him in the elevator when he’d been in the Capitol on business only a few weeks ago. Fantastic.

“Do you think you can keep your food down this time?” Finnick called, unable to resist teasing. A grin spread across his handsome features as the girl faced him, obviously startled. Her fair complexion turned a bright shade of red at his comment, and she glanced around before heading towards him. Finnick folded his arms and looked down at her, literally. She really was small, close to a foot shorter than him.

“Excuse me?” The blonde girl was frowning. She had the sort of arrogant air about her that suggested she thought he should know who she was. The problem was that he didn’t. She was sixteen years old, as she had firmly assured him when he had guessed her age to be younger. The blonde planted her hands on her hips, her gaze accusatory.

“I said, I don’t remember you telling me your name.” Finnick arched his eyebrows. “I think you owe it to me considering the little spectacle upon our first meeting, don’t you agree?”

“Mirinda.” The blonde offered no last name, and Finnick was left to wonder when it became a Capitolian trend for teenagers to bet on tributes. He had no doubt that the only reason she was down here was to study them all for herself. She glanced around as Zachary and Valkyrie headed over, neither of them looking pleased. It was not hard to see why – Valkyrie was dressed like a chubby little starfish, and Zachary like a seahorse.

“No last name?” Finnick persisted, but he was met with a guarded smile from the blonde.

“You asked for a name. I gave you one. Just one.” Miri’s gaze landed upon the two sullen teenagers before her, both of them her own age. “These must be your tributes.”

“Zachary and Valkyrie.” Finnick gestured to them in turn. Both of them looked suspicious, and Miri’s strained smile faltered somewhat. To these teenagers, Capitolians were alien. They were bright colours and ridiculous hairstyles, and this girl with brightly coloured feathers in her hair and bright blue go-go boots was no exception.

“I should probably go.” Miri’s tone was rather abrupt, and Finnick wondered if it was because of his tributes’ silent hostility. “Umm, good luck with the chariots.”

Finnick watched, rather puzzled, as the blonde walked away, hovering near District 2. He doubted Brutus and Enobaria would be as welcoming to her probing their tributes. Many Capitolians were an enigma to Finnick, but most in a bizarre way, one that made him happy he didn’t know what was going on inside their twisted minds. This girl was still a Capitolian, clearly wealthy, but she was young. She was vulnerable to manipulation. So, Finnick surmised, he would use that vulnerability to his advantage…and the advantage of his tributes.

* * *

“How did you find the chariots, darling?” Seneca wandered into his apartment, unsurprised to find Miri flopped on the couch and scrolling through the list of tributes in this year’s Hunger Games. As an only child, Miri had a tendency to get very lonely. Therefore she would often spend time with either her friends, or her father. The only time she was alone in her own apartment room was when she was going to sleep. Miri looked up from the list, brushing her blonde hair from her eyes.

“It was wonderful. The costumes were spectacular.”

Seeing Finnick again had been inevitable, although admittedly Miri’s recollection of their first meeting was somewhat hazy. He had been teasing towards her, and so she had remained stoically enigmatic in return. She wasn’t yet ready to tell any of the Victors that she was Seneca Crane’s daughter, although some of the older ones would surely know. It made little difference really, but it was the thought of keeping her identity a secret from Finnick that made it seem more fun.

“Have you made any new friends yet?”

Miri shook her head. “No.”

“You will.” Seneca ventured into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine, red as blood. He was on edge so often during the day that having some alcohol in his system was a welcome form of relaxation. He offered some to Miri, unable to suppress a slight smile as she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Her last encounter with alcohol had ended up with her vomiting on a Victor. “Training for the tributes starts tomorrow.”

Miri nodded, knowing that it would be something she would need to keep a careful ear out for. The training would be televised like the rest of the Games, however it was important for her to find out what the potential weaknesses of the tributes were. It wouldn’t be any good considering sponsoring a tribute that could turn out to become a complete loss in the Games themselves. But what if she decided that she didn’t want to sponsor anyone?

“Do I have to sponsor?”

“Of course not, Miri.” Seneca looked affronted that she would even ask such a question, crossing one leg over the other and taking another deep sip of wine. “After all, your grandfather is already keeping his options open. We already have a family member as a potential sponsor. You don’t  _ have _ to do anything.”

The knowledge that Obadiah might sponsor only drove Miri’s determination. Knowing her grandfather, he would put his money on a tribute that would succeed. Probably a Career. Miri knew that she didn’t have to sponsor. She didn’t have to befriend Victors, or tributes. But some part of her wanted to become more involved in the Games, as Seneca himself was. Nothing was set in stone, but Miri’s curiosity had a habit of drawing her into situations she was better off staying away from.


	4. Game Plan

**Warnings: none**

Watching the tributes training had always been an exciting prospect to Miri. For her, things went past observation, however. Her investigation of the tributes and their talents had become almost methodical. She sat on the viewing benches with her electronic pad in hand, tapping down notes every once in a while. Sometimes she risked glancing up at the Gamemakers’ lounge, where her father and his colleagues were watching with what seemed to be little interest. Every now and then they would seem mildly impressed by a move one tribute displayed, but other than that their food and drink was a thing of far more importance.

It was the girl from District 3 that again caught Miri’s eye. She was small, almost as small as Miri herself. Yet despite that and not being a Career, she tilted her chin up and walked over to the rack of weapons that gleamed under the Training Centre’s florescent lights. Miri shifted forward in her seat, watching as the copper-haired girl strolled past the snickering Careers with her nose in the air. The girl’s small hands tightened around a spear and she attempted to pick it up.

There was a sharp clatter as the spear tumbled to the ground, and the District 3 girl’s cheeks turned as red as her hair. The Careers howled with laughter, and Miri watched with interest as the boy from District 2 – the mountain of muscle – crossed over to the girl from District 3. He was more than a foot bigger than her, but still the girl glared up at him. He said something that Miri couldn’t hear, and the girl picked up the spear and shoved it back in the rack, shaking her head.

Although the District 3 girl had barely managed to handle the spear, that hadn’t been what had interested in Miri. Weapons were not District 3’s forte, yet this girl had attempted to give it a go anyway. It was that determination that intrigued Miri, and she wondered whether she had already found the tribute she would be sponsoring this year. After a few more minutes, the bell signalling lunch went off – and immediately Miri was on her feet, heading towards the copper-haired girl with her electronic clipboard tucked under her arm.

“Come to laugh?” The girl asked bitterly, her back turned. She spun around, freezing in shock when she realised who she had addressed. She bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…”

“One of the Careers, I know.” Miri raked a hand through her blonde hair. “What’s your name?”

“Nehemia Bryson,” the girl replied a little suspiciously. She examined Miri with her brow furrowed in a frown. “Why? Who are you?”

“Mirinda Crane.” Miri held out her hand, but Nehemia just kept watching her with pursed lips. It must be obvious to her that Miri was a Capitolian, and to a girl who had been plucked out of obscurity in District 3 to fight for her life, Capitolians were to be hated. The blonde girl sighed. “My father is Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane.”

“Good for you,” Nehemia responded uninterestedly. Her eyes were on something behind Miri, and the blonde turned to see Nehemia’s district partner lingering uncertainly a few feet away. “Did you want something from me, or are you just here to boast about the fact that you’re a Gamemaker’s daughter?”

Miri was a little taken aback by Nehemia’s blatant hostility. She was aware that many people of the districts didn’t approve of the Capitol, and the Hunger Games. However she didn’t really see how Nehemia could hate her. Miri hadn’t personally done anything to Nehemia, so why did the younger girl already seem to despise her? Nonetheless, Miri chose to ignore the sarcasm in Nehemia’s tone.

“I actually wanted to say that I saw you with the spear…and I was impressed.”

Nehemia blinked, before she frowned in confusion. “But I dropped it…”

“I know.” Miri gave a shrug of her shoulders. “But you  _ tried _ even though you aren’t a Career. Even though you don’t have that sort of skillset, you still gave it a go. That’s dedication.”

Nehemia was still looking as though she didn’t understand. Miri wondered whether it would be wise to tell the District 3 girl that she planned to sponsor her, but ultimately decided to keep her mouth shut. She would have to speak to Nehemia’s mentor, not the girl herself. She needed to tread carefully around the tributes. There was only so much they were meant to know, and Miri found herself stressing that she’d said too much already.

“I should let you go.” Miri stepped back, looking up to see that her father was watching her intently from the Gamemaker’s lounge. “But I’ll be around. It was nice meeting you, Nehemia.”

“It…it was nice meeting you too,” Nehemia said a little uncertainly, blurting the words out as though she wasn’t sure if she meant them, or if it was merely polite to reply as such.

Miri turned on her heel and walked away, clutching her electronic clipboard hard in her hand. Why was it Nehemia that caught her attention? It didn’t make any sense. It should have been a Career, or a tribute that stood out due to their unique talents. Yet instead it was a girl from District 3 who had failed to lift a spear. Utterly confused, Miri decided perhaps it was best that she headed up to her apartment and go over the notes she had taken today.

* * *

“I noticed your interest in that girl from District 3,” Seneca commented over the rosemary duck and pumpkin that they had been served for dinner. To be honest, Miri was only a small girl and often the amount of food dished up was too much for her to consume. She didn’t understand. How could they be starving in the districts when in the Capitol, there was too much food? She set her knife and fork down, hoping the bloated feeling of her stomach would die down so that she could continue.

“Well, you did want me to sponsor,” Miri replied dryly, taking a gulp of water. Apparently the fact that she had noticed Nehemia hadn’t gone unobserved. If Seneca had realised, then likely others had. Miri bit back a smile at the thought of how irritated Obadiah would be when he realised she intended to sponsor a girl who could barely pick up a spear.

“I hadn’t expected you to come to a decision so quickly.” Seneca swilled his wine, watching his daughter. Of course this was difficult for her. It was Miri’s first year of becoming so involved in the Games, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. She would certainly need to learn more subtlety in choosing her tribute, but that wasn’t something he would chastise her for now.

“I’m still not sure yet,” Miri retorted almost defensively. Although she was leaning towards Nehemia, there was still much she didn’t know about the other tributes. She was immensely glad that her grandfather wasn’t a part of the conversation. The thought of Obadiah’s steely gaze only put her further off her food. “Dad…I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Seneca raised his eyebrows. Questions from Miri seemed to be endless – she had always been a curious girl, looking for an explanation about something, or wanting gossip about someone. It was hard for him to see her as anything other than his little girl, but he had to acknowledge that she was growing up. He couldn’t continue to dismiss her when she asked him questions, because Miri would see through half-truths.

“I wanted to know about my mother,” Miri said quietly, the words causing Seneca to stiffen somewhat. What had prompted such a desire? Miri had never asked about her mother before, content in the knowledge that the woman who had birthed her was long dead. The sudden emergence of such interest disturbed Seneca somewhat, and she wondered whether Obadiah might have said anything to her.

“What about her?”

“Am I like her?” Miri inquired, picking at her food. Since overhearing Obadiah and her father discussing her mother, there had been a new curiosity there. Before Miri hadn’t ever really thought about it – yet now she was determined to discover more about the woman who had carried her for nine months, even if she had died in childbirth. “Do we have any…pictures of her?”

“So you heard.” Seneca raked a hand through his dark hair, worry flickering in his eyes. Miri knew that the words had not been for her ears, but what she hadn’t heard was whatever Obadiah insisted she could not know. What was it about her mother that was so dangerous that it had to be kept secret? Miri had never known the details of her parents’ relationship. She didn’t even know her own mother’s name. “Yes, Miri. You are quite a bit like your mother. That’s what concerns your grandfather.”

“Why?” Miri frowned. Obviously Obadiah despaired that she didn’t take more after him and Seneca, but was her reckless and wild behaviour, apparently like that of her mother, really so dangerous? She didn’t understand, and she wouldn’t until her father explained it to her. What were her family hiding, a secret buried so deep that they didn’t ever want her to unearth it? It sent shivers down her spine.

“He didn’t approve of our relationship,” Seneca said rather flatly. His blue eyes were focused on something in the distance, and Miri could tell that he was reminiscing. “We were young when you were born. I was twenty, and your mother barely older than you are now. It was…frowned upon. There were those in the Capitol who believed that I shouldn’t keep you when you were born. Obadiah was among them. He respected my decision not to give you away, but he and others were painfully aware of your mother’s…less than esteemed reputation.”

“She had a bad reputation?” Miri wondered what exactly that meant. Could it have been because her mother was so young that those in the Capitol turned up their noses? Seventeen was a young age to have a child – most Capitolian adults were in their mid-twenties before they had children.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Seneca abruptly ended the discussion with a casual wave of his hand, disappointing Miri. She had been hoping to get a bit more out of her father than that. Nonetheless, she knew that if she kept pushing there was no chance of getting information about her mother. She would have to take it slowly, in baby steps. Eventually she’d piece together the puzzle.

* * *

Miri had never been one for early morning starts. As a self-proclaimed night owl who spent the early hours of the morning busy with  _ something, _ a seven o’clock sharp wake-up was her idea of a nightmare. It was just during the period of the training, she reminded herself of that as she splashed cold water over her face and quickly dressed. Once training was over she would be able to go back to her usual routine and sleep in until nine at least. The thought made a smile cross her lips as she grabbed her electronic clipboard and stepped into the hallway.

“If it isn’t the mysterious Mirinda.”

She recognised that voice. Stifling a groan, Miri turned to see Finnick Odair striding down the corridor towards her with a spectacular grin on his face. She frowned, wondering why he was in this apartment building when he was meant to be on level 4 with his tributes. It suddenly struck Miri as to why he would have needed to stay the night in her building, and she had to fight the flush that threatened to creep into her cheeks.

“Finnick.”

“I found out something very interesting about you,” Finnick stated as he stepped into the elevator with Miri, much to her chagrin. It was obvious that the handsome Victor only saw fit to make a mockery of her, hence why she was choosing to ignore him. “I know why you didn’t want to disclose your last name to me down at the chariots. You’re Seneca Crane’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Well done,” Miri replied, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulders. “Not that it’s much of a mystery to anyone.”

Her identity was exposed, but in truth she knew that it was also a weapon. Now that Finnick knew who she was, he would try all the harder to win her favour – all the mentors would, for the sake of their tributes. But Miri couldn’t sponsor everyone, and already she felt that she had made her choice. She had decided firmly to watch all of the tributes and take some more notes, but Nehemia had left such an impression that there was no doubt in Miri’s mind that she would be the chosen tribute.

“What is a mystery is who you plan to sponsor,” Finnick purred, moving closer to her. He reached out and brushed a strand of blonde hair behind Miri’s ear, as she remained stoic, eyes focused on the doors of the elevator. Finnick was a handsome man, but she couldn’t afford to let him affect her. She was not a hormonal teenage girl. She was a Crane.

“That’s a mystery to me as well,” Miri replied smoothly, reaching back and swiping Finnick’s hand away from her hair. She turned and offered him a sharp look, eyebrows furrowing into a frown. “I’m afraid you’ll find that any efforts you might make to seduce me may not work in your favour, Finnick. I’m not as easy to manipulate as that.”

“Really?” Finnick sounded amused, and Miri’s blue eyes narrowed. Did he really think that because she was young and malleable that she would succumb to him? “It works on women twice your age. You’ll see, Miri. You resist it now, but I think you’ll find I can be…rather persuasive.”

The last words were whispered in her ear, and Miri fought shivers at his hot breath on her cheek. The doors to the elevator opened, fortunately, and she swept outside with her chin tilted high. Let Finnick Odair play his game. Miri had always quite liked playing games, especially when she had the distinct impression that she would win.


	5. Ignorant Bliss

Finnick Odair was not the last Victor to approach Miri. It seemed that since Finnick had found out that she was Seneca’s daughter, the others had heard the whispers too. Because by day three of training, there were several other Victors competing for Miri’s attention. It was odd to her – she was just a sixteen-year-old girl and yet, to them, she had so much to offer their tributes. Unfortunately for them, Miri had had her mind made up since she had seen Nehemia perform on day one.

“I never knew that Seneca had a daughter.” Gloss from District 1 eased his tall, muscular frame into the seat beside her. Miri remained silent because if she was being perfectly honest, Gloss intimidated her a little, as did many of the other Career Victors. While Finnick was content to flirt, she felt that Gloss was the sort who would rather threaten. “Who was your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Miri murmured, taking care not to let sharpness slip into her tone. It wouldn’t do any good to offend the Victors. “She died giving birth to me anyway.”

Miri took note of Gloss’s tributes. They were good and they were certainly worthy Careers. But there was a determination about Nehemia, despite being small and young and from a non-Career district. It was that Miri admired, it was that quality that gave her cause to choose Nehemia. She just hadn’t spoken to any of the girl’s mentors, because so far she hadn’t met any Victors from District 3 to tell about her decision.

“Do you see them?” Gloss noticed her attention on his tributes and sought to take advantage of that. “They’re strong and fit. They’ve been trained since they were children for this. I’m sure a smart girl like you can see that a tribute from District 1 stands a very high chance of winning the Games.”

“Mmm,” Miri said noncommittally. She disliked the way that Gloss talked down to her, as though she was a child he could brainwash. Observing his tributes, she knew that he wasn’t wrong. She had just already made her choice. A mentor biting anxiously at his nails caught Miri’s attention and she frowned. “Who is that?”

“Oh. Him.” Gloss scoffed. “That’s Ezra from District 3. He’s a bundle of frayed nerves, that one.”

_ Nehemia’s mentor. _ Ignoring Gloss completely, Miri pushed herself to her feet and tentatively crossed over to Ezra. He was fairly young, perhaps in his mid-twenties. He was very jittery – by the fact that he kept biting his nails and jiggling his legs, it made Miri think perhaps he just couldn’t keep still. She sat beside him, clearing her throat to catch his attention. Although Ezra surely must have heard her approach, he jumped, removing his fingers from his mouth.

“Umm. Hi.” Miri wasn’t quite sure how to approach this evidently frightened man. “I’m Mirinda Crane. Seneca’s daughter. I was hoping to sponsor your tribute, actually.”

“Which one?” Ezra inquired, his eyes darting towards the training room. “I have two.”

“Nehemia.” Miri swept her hair back. She wondered if she was making the right choice in dealing with Ezra. He seemed to be a little unbalanced. She couldn’t understand why. Did most Victors have issues? She heard some were drunks or alcoholics. What a waste of the life the Capitol had so generously provided them with. “Did you want me to sponsor her? I thought I should talk to you…”

“Your decision really,” Ezra muttered. His fingers were back in his mouth, making his words difficult to understand. “I mean, you’re the Capitolian.”

Miri wasn’t quite certain what that meant, but she didn’t think it was meant to be an insult. She noticed Gloss watching the pair of them with his lips pressed into a firm, unhappy line. It was quite obvious that he wasn’t pleased with her choosing to speak to Ezra over him. Miri wondered if perhaps as well as making friends, she was also making enemies.

* * *

Miri wondered if family dinners could be compared to torture – especially when ‘family’ now seemed to extend to Caesar Flickerman, his wife and two children. Miri didn’t mind Caesar, because he was always in good humour and could make up for any conversation she lacked in. His wife Aurelia was a bit of a snob though, but nowhere near as much as uppity Ithaca.

But it was Cobryn, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a permanent sneer, that Miri honestly couldn’t stand. He was only three years older than her and thought he was god’s gift to women. She should have told him that was a right only reserved for Finnick Odair – although she herself would never go there.

It hardly surprised her that Obadiah was present. She was hoping that she wouldn’t have to deal with her grandfather’s unwelcome presence until after the Games, but no such luck. Of course, any opportunity to congratulate his son and rub in how much Miri had to aspire to. She sullenly picked at her food while Obadiah and Caesar made boring small talk about people she’d only vaguely heard of.

“So, Miri.” Cobryn’s smug expression made her lose her appetite. “I hear that you’re sponsoring District 3. Well, one of them. Everyone is saying you were more interested in talking to Ezra than any of the other mentors.”

If it wasn’t socially unacceptable, Miri would have reached across the table and slapped him right then and there. Instead she set her knife and fork down, seething. How  _ dare _ Cobryn say that. They all knew sponsoring wasn’t meant to be a hugely open affair until the Games at least. Cobryn’s smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned back in his chair, obviously satisfied. Ithaca looked startled and Obadiah shot his granddaughter a withering glance.

“What? Mirinda, is this true?”

“So what if it is?” Miri shot back. Normally she wouldn’t speak so disrespectfully in front of guests, even to Obadiah. But she was tired of being questioned, tired of people acting like she didn’t know what she was doing. She was learning, and she knew that she didn’t want to be typical and sponsor a Career.

“Mind your tongue, young lady.” Obadiah’s disapproval shone out from his eyes as he regarded his defiant granddaughter. “The answer is a simple yes or no.”

“Yes, I am.” Miri jutted her chin out, blue eyes narrowing. “The girl, Nehemia, actually.”

Ithaca started laughing, but was silenced when her mother gave her a stern look. Cobryn continued to stare at Miri with those dark eyes glittering with glee. She knew then that he liked to cause trouble, and would no doubt make a habit of it. Miri’s former indifference towards Cobryn Flickerman plummeted down into intense dislike.

“What a good way to throw away your money,” Obadiah said dryly, taking another sip of his wine and glancing around at the company. “What does everyone else think of this District 3 girl?”

Of course, Seneca remained silent. Miri couldn’t blame her dad for not speaking out – he was Head Gamemaker, he wasn’t meant to express opinions on which tributes he favoured. But the Flickerman family rose to the occasion with vigour, as Obadiah had evidently known they would. Miri hated her grandfather even more, knowing that he picked out this opportunity for her to be derided, her opinions shamed.

“Well, the girl’s tiny.” Aurelia laughed lightly. “She won’t stand a chance beyond the bloodbath. They rarely do at that size.”

As the others threw in their opinions and Miri seethed, she watched Obadiah lean back and take a satisfied sip of his wine. If he thought she was going to cower, change her mind and support a Career tribute, he had another thing coming. Snatching up her own meagre glass of wine, Miri pushed away from the table without excusing herself. She needed some fresh air, and distance from these people.

Stomping outside onto the balcony, she swung back the last remnants of her wine, grimacing at the sour taste. She was only allowed alcohol on special occasions, and still wasn’t really accustomed to the taste. Setting the wine glass down, Miri gripped the railing and looked over the bright lights of the Capitol. She could hear music playing, people laughing. It made her feel lonely, as though she wanted to be part of something – but part of what? She was the daughter of the Head Gamemaker, she could be whoever or whatever she wanted to be…unless of course, it happened to remind Obadiah of her mother.

Her mother. Miri didn’t even have a name to link herself to the woman who had given birth to her. Seneca had mentioned that her reputation was less than pristine, but Miri couldn’t think of why she would be so frowned upon. Was her mother alive? Did her mother know that  _ she _ was alive? Miri had always had her suspicions, but only recently had they truly been thrown into question.

Miri heard the distinctive beep of the balcony door access being approved and knew that it would be her father come to find her and chastise her for her behaviour. But it was unfair of him to do so, especially when he was keeping secrets from her.

“Is my mother…”

Miri spun around and froze, because it wasn’t Seneca at all. Instead Cobryn strode out onto the balcony, eyebrows raised at her words and dark hair whipping about his face in the slight breeze. She couldn’t think of anyone she would have wished to see less, and her hands clenched into small fists.

“Is your mother what?” Cobryn laughed easily. Miri had known him better when they’d been younger. He had always been smiling, Cobryn. As a child that was something written off as happiness. As a young man of nineteen, it could well be attributed to other things. “I can tell you what she  _ was _ . Your mother was a slut.”

Miri was infuriated, not only at what Cobryn had just called her mother, but also at the implication that Cobryn in fact knew more about her mother than Miri did herself. She stepped forward and before she even knew what she was doing, her hand cracked across Cobryn’s cheek. The smile faltered for an instant, replaced with surprise as Cobryn raised his hand to touch his reddening cheek.

“Don’t you dare talk about my mum like that,” Miri spat.

“Why?” Cobryn’s shock was quickly replaced with anger, which flared in his dark eyes. “Are you scared about knowing the truth? Is that what it is?”

He moved closer towards her, until Miri had backed up against the balcony ledge. Her vivid imagination led to the belief that he just might throw her over. But then her curiosity was roused. Perhaps Cobryn knew something, through Caesar or even through Obadiah or Seneca. It wasn’t an opportunity to pass up.

“Then tell me. What do you know about my mum?”

“I already told you. That she was a slut.” Cobryn moved as swiftly as a snake, catching Miri by the neck. His slender fingers dug in, making her choke. His smile remained the epitome of innocence. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you turned out to be a slut, too.”

“I’m a virgin,” Miri choked out, although she didn’t owe Cobryn any kind of explanation. He tilted his head to the side, relaxing his grip only slightly.

“Oh? I think that should make it interesting then.”

“What?” Miri was completely baffled.

Cobryn threw back his head and laughed. He released Miri and she rubbed at her sore neck and made to step past him, but he caught her by the arm. Where this sudden violence came from, Miri didn’t know. Caesar was far from a temperamental man, so she guessed it must have something to do with Aurelia.

“You honestly don’t know? Obadiah has been talking with my dear dad about you. He thinks you need to…settle down.”

“He’s thought that for years,” Miri snapped, but Cobryn shoved her against the railing again, her spine connecting painfully with the metal.

“As in marry, you little fool.” Cobryn smirked at the utter horror that came over Miri’s face. She didn’t understand why Cobryn would lie, but she was only sixteen years old. Would Obadiah seriously consider selling her off? “Marriage to me. I don’t know, he seems to think I might be able to encourage some sort of…obedience.”

Cobryn tugged at her blonde hair at the word, causing Miri to yelp. She slapped his hands away, angry at being kept out of everything. Even if Obadiah was talking to Caesar about that, his word wasn’t law. If Miri protested to Seneca, surely he would see it was ridiculous. Yes, some Capitolians in prominent families did marry quite young, but sixteen was practically unheard of.

“My dad would never allow it,” Miri retorted, “I’d speak to him about it and he’d convince Obadiah otherwise.”

“Really?” Cobryn released Miri and stepped back, but his laughter seemed to follow her as she stormed away from him and back into the apartment.

* * *

“Ah, Miss Crane, we meet again.”

As if Miri’s luck couldn’t get any worse, when she stepped into the elevator, Finnick Odair was there to greet her. There was a grin on his face, but his eyes were solemn. She wondered why that was. Folding her arms, she completely ignored him. She didn’t want to have a conversation with him, or anyone else, right now. The terrible thought of marriage to Cobryn was still playing about inside her head.

“Leave me alone.”

“But why would I want to do that?” Finnick tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, but she could only remember Cobryn tugging harshly at her blonde locks and she jumped, instinctively slapping his hand away.

“I said leave me alone!”

“My, something’s got you worked up tonight.” Finnick eyed her warily, before he frowned. “What are those marks on your neck?”

“What marks?” Miri flipped out her mirror, which she always kept with her to check that she was immaculate. Right now, she really wasn’t. Her hair was windblown, her eyes far too bright and her cheeks very red. But her neck…there were marks there in the shapes of fingers. She snapped her mirror shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Doesn’t look like a hickey,” Finnick commented, apparently more to himself than Miri as he continued to inspect her. She turned away. “Did something happen to you?”

“Would you care even if something had?” Miri questioned, turning to look Finnick in the eye. He appeared startled into silence by the question, and she already knew the answer without him having to say it verbally. No, he wouldn’t. Because she was a Capitolian and Victors resented them. She was the daughter of a Head Gamemaker, granddaughter of the man who had engineered his Games – and ruined his life, if the way Victors appeared to act about it all was accurate.

“To be honest? I don’t really give a damn what happens in the frivolous lives of you Capitolians.” Finnick’s flirtatiousness was gone, replaced by a wry and somewhat darker tone. “But if someone was hurting you…that’s a different matter entirely. People shouldn’t get hurt if there’s no reasoning behind it.”

“But you were,” Miri murmured, clapping a hand over her mouth. She was saying the most stupid things tonight.

Finnick glanced at her, and offered her the saddest smile she’d ever seen. “Correction. I  _ am. _ ”


End file.
